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It started with a note of apology from him. And then a drink before he moved 3,000 miles away.

There was the occasional email or phone call, and dinner during a trip to San Francisco. And then, in one of life's delicious ironies, we ended up in the same social circle. By then, he was back in Boston, while I had moved to Florida.

Our past was never discussed. But we both knew it was there.

After a casual pizza and movie night at his home, we said our goodbyes. The two of us, his husband, and two mutual friends.

He pulled me into a hug, the deepest of my life. And he didn't let go.

One of the friends: "Well, I guess they're busy."

The past has still never been verbalized. The hug, though, said it all.